


Snowglobe

by RoughDraftHero



Category: Original Work, The Sentinel
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sentinel/Guide Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughDraftHero/pseuds/RoughDraftHero
Summary: In a quiet place, Marcel Dupont finds his guide.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot tie-in to [They Shoot Guides, Don't They?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7606702/chapters/17312731)

They’d picked a little sagging cabin for him just off the main road, where pine trees hid the lot from view and there was a pile of firewood kept dry with a tarp. Shoveling snow would be pointless, so he kept the truck near the turnoff, and walked to it whenever he needed to drive into town.

Marcel Dupont’s 27th birthday was spent alone.

The morning of, he’d read a newspaper that had his face on the front page—he was smiling, waving at a crowd of people watching the parade. _Where is he?,_ asked the headline.

He, Marcel, had zoned at the parade and didn’t come out for three weeks. The Center’s last ditch effort at “recuperation” involved carting him up to the sierras where snow and isolation would mute any sensory overload. There was nothing here but crisp air and the occasional call from a raven. He liked it.

But two days in, and he was bored. So he trundled down the two lane freeway until dense trees suddenly gave way to a sleepy little town. This place wasn’t even the edge of civilization, it was an island unto its own. The next town, the one with a movie theater, was two hours away. Here, there was a grocery store, a pizza joint, and a movie rental kiosk. Marcel didn’t want to watch movies.

He went to the grocery store and frowned at the ten or so paperback books lined up next to the tabloid magazines.

“You know,” someone said, a girl who worked at the store whom he’d sensed staring at him since he’d come in, “there’s a used book store here, it’s that house behind the bar.”

He smiled, and thanked her.

It being off-season, he wondered how many people came through this town, or if he was special news. He wondered if people recognized him. As he trudged through the snow up dirt road that passed by the local bar, there was no one outside to recognize him even if they would.

Like the girl said, there was a house behind the bar. It had a porch that creaked when Marcel’s foot landed on it, and there was a box beside the door that contained a pile of books. “1 cent each,” declared a sign, written with fastidious straight lines. Unsure, Marcel wondered if this box was the “used bookstore.”

There was nowhere to deposit money, so he took a chance, and pushed the front door open. A bell chimed, but he barely noted it. He was struck dumb. Every wall was a bookshelf. There was two broad leather chairs at one corner with a side table covered in books, and a fire crackled in the hearth. He smiled at the fire extinguisher sitting nearby. Something inside him loosened.

“Coming, coming,” said a harried male voice. From around a corner appeared a short, chubby little man wearing a thick wool sweater, grape-colored corduroy pants, and socks. When he first caught sight of Marcel, his cheeks bloomed pink. Coming to a full stop, he exhaled.

“Hi,” Marcel said, with a quirked lip. That got a deeper blush, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“Do you need help?” the man asked.

“Yes, I’m here for the winter to relax and all that, but relaxing has turned out to be rather dull, so I was hoping to find some books.”

“I have books.” The man clutched his hands together. “Plenty.”

“I can see that.” Marcel took a turn around the room, skimming over all the titles. But he found himself less interested in the books than before. He turned his attention back to the man, who’d sidled off to thumb nervously through a large atlas. “What’s your name?”

“Um, Alex.”

The only incongruous thing about dear Alex was the awful stench. He’d obviously doused himself in cologne, and Marcel couldn’t quite fit that together with the rest of the man’s image. But the smell, like the books, became unimportant when Alex risked glancing up at Marcel with those bespectacled, doe eyes of his. “And yours?”

Marcel smiled. “Mark.”

Alex’s gaze flicked away as he turned to stare at a bookshelf. It made Marcel want to tease him, to lightly take his chin and turn his face back.

But then Alex surprised him by drawing a book out from a middle shelf, flipping it over and back, and then handing it to Marcel. “Try this,” he said. Marcel took the offered book, and read the title. He snorted. It was  _The Call of the Wild._   

#

“I just don’t understand why she would marry a man she knew had a penchant for locking wives up in attics.”

“Yes,” Alex said, as he poured another cup of tea for Marcel. “That is quite the mystery.” He set the kettle down, pursued a bookshelf, and then came back, handing a novel over.

“ _The Wide Sargasso Sea_?”

Alex smiled, and settled into the leather chair beside Marcel’s. “She was in love with him, and she saw a broken man who needed her.”

“I guess.” Marcel set the new book aside and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Alex fiddle around with sugar cubes and milk. The cologne, which had been irritating during their first meeting, was now an albatross that was keeping Marcel up at nights. _Why_ did this sweet, earnest little man wear cologne that belonged on a lounge singer? It was beyond irritating. It was starting to become infuriating. And Marcel rarely got mad.

His cell phone buzzed and Alex twitched.

“Sorry,” Marcel said, rising as he pulled the phone out and walked outside to the porch. He knew only one person would be calling—his handler, Janine. “What’s up?” he asked.

“The Center’s starting to get antsy about how long you’re staying.”

“Well, considering I haven’t zoned since I’ve been here, I’d rather stay for awhile.”

She sighed. “I agree, Marc, I do. They keep promising that they’ve made progress finding you a guide, but I think they just want their poster boy back.”

“I can’t leave now.” Not when he’d found someone he could… _something_ with.

“Fine, I’ll hold them off. Call you back in two weeks.” She hung up without waiting for a response, and Marcel slipped the phone back into his pocket. He leaned against the porch’s railing, staring at the snow. If he went back to that life, it would kill him. And he didn’t particularly want to die, at least not now that he’d…

He went back inside.

Alex was studying his atlas again in quiet contemplation. He did this more often than not, Marcel had noted. “Do you like to travel?”

The atlas shut. “I’ve never really gotten the chance to.”

Nodding, Marcel sat down again and took a sip of tea as he thought. How did Alex end up here on this mountain, surrounded by books that told of places he seemingly wanted to visit but never did? “Have you always lived here?”

“Always? No. But it feels like it sometimes.” Alex put on a brave smile, and clearly intended to change the subject. “What about you? Staying past the winter?”

There was more than friendly curiosity in that question, and Marcel felt compelled to answer in a way that comforted Alex. However, he would be lying. Probably. “I’d like to stay, it’s peaceful here like I’ve never experienced in my life.”

“Really?”

“I work as, well a soldier of sorts. But they use me for promotional things and it’s tiring. I’m exhausted, actually.” Marcel chuckled ruefully, unable to really put his heart into the faked humor this time.

Alex’s hand covered his.

There was enough time for Marcel to feel both amused, and pleased, that the other man was being so forward, when his breath hitched.     

He stood up so suddenly that Alex yelped, knocking his tea over. He stared up at Marcel with wide eyes, face flushing. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he started to babble.

“No,” Marcel said hoarsely. “No.”

He fled, stumbling outside, off the porch, and down the street. Disoriented, he fumbled for his phone and called Janine. “What,” he said swallowing. “What does touching a compatible guide feel like?”

She took a moment to answer, and when she did, it was just a terse, “Why?”

He hung up. He stared at the phone, not believing that he’d been so stupid as to call her. The Center would be listening. _Calm down, calm down._ He was standing in the middle of the street he finally noticed. He dropped the phone, uncaring. Then he turned around.

A guide felt like the absence of pain; the soothing touch of a cool hand on feverish skin.

But should it have been so muted? Why couldn’t he tell before? Why was he able to walk away?

Marcel frowned. He couldn’t tell because Alex hadn’t wanted him to know.

He entered the bookshop with new eyes. After weeks of smothering his sentinel instincts, he now unleashed them at full bore, analysing every scent and visual he could find. The books had been touched and touched again by hundreds of people, so he pushed that data away. It was the teacup, the mantel, and the chair that carried Alex’s scent.

That fucking cologne.

Marcel stalked through the bookstore, back into the living area which he’d never entered before, but he’d never felt like he had a right to. _Now_ , he did. He grazed his fingers along the cabinets as he turned into the kitchen and found Alex at the sink, filling the tea kettle.

He’d been crying. What a little fool.

“Alex.”

A sharp gasp, and Alex almost dropped the kettle. He stared at Marcel.

“I’m sorry I ran off like that,” Marcel said calmly, letting a small, comforting smile cross his face.

“It’s okay,” Alex replied quickly. “I shouldn’t have touched you.” He rubbed his forehead. “I got carried away, and I know you probably don’t…” His expression crumpled and he turned so that Marcel couldn’t see.

He didn’t know, then. He probably didn’t even know Marcel was a sentinel, which meant he’d muzzled his own abilities in some way to keep from being detected. That took quite a lot of planning and foresight. Now that Marcel really thought about it, thought about how chubby hipster Alex here was living up in the mountains, he realized it was all intentional. Self-exile, so that his sentinel could never find him.

_Fate’s a bitch, little one._

Between the two of them, one would have lost. Alex almost won. Almost. And Marcel… Marcel’s heart hurt. He didn’t want to drag his guide from this home with the books, from everything Alex had built for himself to protect himself. None of it made sense, of course, because only Marcel could truly _protect_ Alex. But for some reason, this place had been important to him.

“Alex,” Marcel said, going to his guide and palming his face. Alex looked up at him with wet eyelashes, his lips parted just so. The rhythmic thump of his heart was like a call, a siren’s song telling Marcel that he’d found home. “Alex,” he repeated breathlessly.

The rhythm turned wrong. Too fast, too harsh. Marcel shushed him, saying, “No, no, it’s okay, mon pitou, shh..”

“How, how did,” Alex was choking on his palpable anguish as he backed away, coming up against the counter. He had his arms up in front of him as if that could possibly ward Marcel off. A guide with any training would have taken quite a different tactic, but clearly Alex was completely inexperienced.

What a heady thought; Marcel would have to teach him everything.

He slid his hands around Alex’s throat, thumbs massaging arm skin as he bowed his head to first kiss Alex at the corner of his eye, and then scent along his hair. Each breath tore another barb from Marcel’s soul, healing him. _More._ He needed more.

His hands went to Alex’s belt buckle.

Something wet fell on his wrist and burned his skin. Furrowing his eyebrows, he stared at the droplet, and then the next, not understanding. But then he heard the sniffle, and he saw the slight tremors wracking the body trapped by his.

Marcel slammed his fist on the counter, and Alex cried out. That _cologne._ He couldn’t even sense what his guide needed because he was being blocked. He was being kept from his guide in the most instinctual way possible. Maybe that was why Alex wasn’t responding the like he should either.

“Bath,” Marcel growled. “I’ll wash you.” He didn’t recognize his own voice—that unfriendly, commanding tone that did not leave room for argument. It seemed to work, though, because Alex nodded meekly and lowered his head as if submitting to Marcel’s will.  

Taking the back of his neck, Marcel directed him out of the kitchen, and then let him lead the way towards the bathroom.

Was Marcel drunk? He’d never been a dominant lover, or demanding, but watching Alex already toeing the line made him so horny he thought he might just—he huffed a breath. He had to calm down a little bit. For now, at least. But when he had Alex naked, his fingers digging into Alex’s flesh, he would further explore this new desire.

“Let me grab a towel,” Alex was saying softly as he stopped to open a closet door. He fumbled around for something, none of it sounding like linens, and Marcel barely had time to narrow his eyes or dial down his senses before a horrendous sound made everything go black.

#

Hours must have passed. When he came to, or out of the zone, or whatever it was, he was lying on the cold ground and it was dark. He sat up, head pounding, and snarled.

Alex was gone.

Shaky, he stood up with some trouble. He held the closet shelf to support himself and caught sight of the contents: cologne bottles, label-less pill bottles, and air horns. Alex had used a goddamn air horn on him. Well, Marcel had to admit with a tinge of pride, it _had_ worked. Momentarily, of course.

He moved with icy efficiency, grabbing his parka from the leather seat and zipping it up. He found the back door wide open, and footsteps leading out into the snow. The little idiot had run straight into the woods like a squirrel running blindly into the street. Night time, in the sierras, and he’d run into the woods.

Marcel followed, ready to hunt.

#

A strange sensation, feeling your rational self drain away.

The moon had risen, and Marcel knew his guide was somewhere out there in the cold, unprotected and alone. He’d run from his sentinel, he’d run from safety, and he’d run from their bond. When Marcel had set out, there seemed like understandable reasons why Alex may do something stupid like that, but those reasons were gone.

Guides should know when the jig is up. Especially Alex, who’d managed to avoid bonding for so much longer than normal.

To stay the increasing worry eating as his gut, Marcel thought about guide things as he ran. He thought about all those times at the Center with his buddies, laughing excitedly and nervously at the prospect of bonding with a guide. _How would you keep your guide in line,_ stupid teenagers would ask each other, faces flushed, eyes flashing. They’d all certainly watched enough sentinel/guide porn to have ideas.

Those buddies fell away one by one, finding their guides and becoming something that Marcel couldn’t be a part of. Finally, as more years passed, people started looking at him with concern, and fear. Younger sentinels avoided his eyes, probably wondering— _what if I end up like him?_

The Center loved him. An A-class sentinel, powerful, charming (apparently). And a way for them to say, _see, sentinels can control themselves if they have to_.

He ran harder. It was almost over. The gaping, dark maw of sadness and pain was almost over. He wouldn’t be alone.

“ _Where_ are you?” he bellowed. What if he allowed something to happen to Alex? He’d kill himself.

But then he heard it, a weak little rasp. It’s all he needed.

He found Alex huddled up against a tree, knees drawn up to his chest. He was only wearing that damn wool sweater; no extra layers. His lips were blue.

Marcel tore out of his parka, and pulled it around Alex’s shoulders. Then he wrenched the guide open from his clawed-tight huddle and lifted him up in a fireman’s carry. Pausing for a moment to gather his bearings, he realized they were now closer to his cabin than the town. “You fucking idiot,” he snarled, world-weary.

He ran again.

At his cabin, he laid Alex on the bed, cranked up the heater, and then returned to strip every piece of cold, wet clothing from his guide’s body until all that was left was shivery, pale skin. He flung the bedding over the two of them, and rubbed warmth into Alex, rubbed everywhere. When those blue lips turned pink again, and a blush had come to Alex’s cheeks, Marcel exhaled with relief.

He let Alex stay quiet as he checked every toe and every finger for color, kissing each when he was satisfied. He held Alex’s palm to his lips and closed his eyes.

 _Secure the area_ , he thought.

With Alex’s safety and health assured, Marcel felt the driving instinct to sniff out every corner of the cabin, check every lock, and make sure the heater was working at full strength. He kept glancing back over at his guide, who was bundled up in blankets and watching him apprehensively.

“You ran,” Marcel said, his tongue thick in his mouth as even forming those words was a struggle. He shook his head to indicate his disapproval. "Never run from me again."

“Y—you,” Alex stuttered. “You’re a sentinel.”

Lip quirking, Marcel fully turned towards him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I knew it.” A low sigh. “I’ve never met one before.”

 _Good,_ was Marcel's first thought. But then his amusement and stomach sank. He was losing rationality, he was losing self-control, and he was losing it all with Alex who clearly _still_ hadn’t realized what was going on. But he felt so ragged, so finished, that he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) fight the urge to approach his guide, who scooted further back in bed.

Marcel stopped.

He was going about this wrong. Guides who knew what they were doing— what they were up against—may require aggression and dominance, but that wasn’t how he’d capture Alex. He unfurled his arms, his clenched fists, and let loose all the exhaustion and pain held close to his heart. He laid himself bare.    

It took a moment, but then beautifully, perfectly, Alex cooed as if Marcel were nothing but a motherless kitten. He let the blankets fall away and crawled over, sitting up on his knees to take Marcel’s cheeks in his palms. “It’s okay,” he said.

Marcel smiled. Instincts were a wonderful thing.

He’d seen weary sentinels coddled by guides, petted and whispered to until all the noise and smells and sights stopped hurting them and they could dial back into something human. He’d even had his own temp guides who felt like over-the-counter Tylenol taken for third-degree burns. But he’d never known, until now, why sentinels died for their guides.

He turned his cheek into Alex’s palm, closing his eyes. The voice murmuring to him, soft and gentle, was all he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. It didn’t grate, it didn’t pound into his brain, it didn’t hurt.

“Mark?” Marcel took Alex, laid him back down and covered him. “Wait—”

 _Kiss his throat._ A stuttered breath. Marcel ran his fingers through Alex’s hair, rubbed up against him, hips wanting to push further in. He wanted to meld them both together, feel inside of Alex, and own him.

Sitting up, Marcel unbuckled his belt. He barely had the presence of mind to unzip his fly before shoving his pants down, easing the pressure on his cock. He’d been told that bonding didn’t always need fucking, but he felt, down to his bones, that to fuck Alex was to claim him, and _not_ claiming him would be out of the question. Besides, Marcel thought with some pained amusement, he just really wanted to get in there.

“Don’t fight me,” he said, looking into Alex’s eyes. “Please don’t fight me.”

Shyness apparently outweighed fear because all his guide did in response was groan, and cover his face with his arm, turning his shoulder towards Marcel, the tips of his ears visibly red. With a grin, Marcel grabbed one meaty thigh, spreading his legs and exposing his private areas from his cock and balls to his hole. He buried himself further down into the pillow, and Marcel chuckled.

He could feel the tenuous strands of their bond already linking together. Just by being close, touching, the process had already started. He tried calling to Alex through it.

A soft exhale, and then Alex turned onto his back, raising his knees. He knotted his fingers together over his chest, and kept his gaze pointed at the ceiling. He was aroused, his cheeks flushed, but he just wouldn’t look at Marcel.

“We’re going to bond,” Marcel said.

“I know.”

With a nod, Marcel spit into his hand, and reached down to massage that heated place he so badly wanted to force his way into. He didn’t have any lube, and could only hope that Alex would relax enough to let him in without much pain.

Another exhale, and Alex finally made eye contact. “I can _feel_ how much you want me—ah!”

Marcel smirked as he curled a second finger in. Alex clasped his shoulders desperately, inching his hips back as he tried to ride Marcel’s touch.

That pretty much set his brain on fire. As the rest of the world fell away, Marcel focused entirely on his guide, on the singular goal of bonding to him. Alex made frightened sounds at first, but quickly turned into lustful gasps, responding to Marcel’s own grunts. Whether it was instincts or not, Alex submitted to him well and Marcel rewarded him for that.

The bond completed almost the same moment as they both did, and the surge of energy was apparently too much for Alex, who passed out in Marcel’s arms.

Drowsy, he laid beside his newly conquered guide, and rubbed his chest while observing his face. Marcel had expected this to never happen. But now they were bonded, together, and would carry each other through all trials forever.   

#

“Brilliantly played. I didn’t see a single bruise on him.” Janine smirked. “Once again, you’ve earned that _Gentleman Sentinel_ title the blogs love to call you.”

Marcel just stood there placidly. He hated this.

There were enough Center SUVs idling outside his cabin to storm a small country. Marcel, having been so addled with afterglow the past few hours, could do nothing but mentally curse his ineptitude. He should have taken Alex somewhere else.

Janine, who was standing there with him on the front porch, cocked her head. “You’re not happy?”

“I’m very happy.”

“Right, well, so is the Center. They want you back down the mountain now so we can get your guide registered and give him an aptitude test. Something tells me butterball in there might have trouble on the fitness portion.”

Marcel’s lip quirked as he thought about he’d rather be inside the cabin giving his butterball some more aerobic exercise than out here with Janine. But then the humor faded. There would be no more private cabin for he and Alex—they’d be carted back to the Center, poked and prodded, tested to see how well they worked together, and observed like lab rats.

“I’d like more time,” he said.

Janine frowned. “You’ve had more than a month.”

“I meant with my guide.”

She laughed. “For what? He’s already bonded to you.”

Well, she was right about that. But Marcel couldn’t explain his dissatisfaction even though he wanted Janine to understand. “He’s probably not very fond of me right now, considering I just upended his life. I was hoping I could give him more time to acclimate.”

“He’ll acclimate at the Center. This guide intentionally evaded being registered for more than ten years. I have _no_ sympathy for him.” She seemed to catch the way Marcel hesitated, so she leaned in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What if he tries to run again?”

Marcel’s chest clenched. Alex, run from him?

Janine continued: “We’ve been through this before at the Center. The longer a guide’s gone undetected, the more likely they’ll attempt to go AWOL, repeatedly.”

From his core, a heat started crawling through Marcel’s veins; anger, suspicion. Why _had_ Alex tried so hard to avoid him? And would he run again? Their bond should be enough for Marcel to track him anywhere in the world, but if he purposely blocked their bond, and kept Marcel from finding him…  

“All doubts can be put to rest—easily,” Janine said. “We have tools for this. A simple collar with a GPS tracker, and he won’t be able to hide from you ever again, sentinel.” She gestured at one of the SUVs, and a man got out carrying a briefcase. He held it open for her, revealing one of the Center’s standard guide retention collars. “We’re ready to go now, if you want.”

Marcel looked at the ground. “Give it to me.” He heard the briefcase shut. He gripped the handle, taking it from the man, and turned to go inside. “Wait out here, and do not disturb us.”

While he’d been outside, he—of course—had been listening to the sounds coming from the cabin, but Alex hadn’t made much noise. This was probably intentional. He was sitting at the window bench, hands in his lap. When Marcel came in, he turned to stare with a shuttered expression.

Marcel went to him, and got to one knee, balancing the briefcase on his thigh. “Alex, listen to me. I know this wasn’t what you planned, I know how much work you put into this not happening. But I’ve found you.”

“So my life is over?”

“You’re not _dying._ You’re coming home, to be trained and to live as my guide, like you were supposed to from the beginning.” Marcel opened the briefcase, revealing the collar, and tried to read the look on Alex’s face, but there was barely a twitch. All the frank naivety had been hidden away somewhere, out of Marcel’s reach. “Please just… accept it.”

Brown eyes met his like an electric current to his heart. But whatever Alex was thinking, whatever he wanted Marcel to know and understand, he clearly wasn’t going to say. By nature, he seemed like a acquiescent person, willing to submit to those with stronger personalities. Maybe someone else had convinced him to run?

If it was a choice he’d made on his own, such a dangerous choice, Marcel couldn’t fathom being the person who took it away from him. And yet, here they were.

“I won’t let you go,” Marcel said. “I’m just not willing to, and the Center wouldn’t allow it anyway. So, besides that, what would you want from me, Alex?”

Alex looked down at his hands, unfurling his fingers. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” He exhaled. “I want you to never lie to me. About anything.”

Nearly laughing, Marcel shook his head. Soon enough, Alex would be able to tell when he lied whether he wanted that or not. But fine. “I promise.”

“Did you manipulate me last night?”

Jaw tightening, Marcel nodded. “In a way, yes. I took advantage of your inexperience and our compatibility. Your guide instincts would never have let you ignore a sentinel in pain.”

“I don’t feel manipulated.”

“Then don’t. It was your choice to act on those instincts, but I _did_ know you’ve never dealt with them before, so in that way I—” Marcel stopped talking, ashamed. If Alex didn’t want to feel coerced, then for what purpose would it be to convince him otherwise? He understood what Marcel was talking about, so they would leave it at that.

He stood up and joined Alex on the window bench, leaving the briefcase between them. “If you had been a trained guide, or knew more about how guides and sentinels function with each other, last night would have gone differently. You would have tried to ward me off using your abilities and I would have asserted dominance because you’re my guide. It’s just the natural order of things.” He frowned, the words leaving a bad aftertaste, even though he’d said and heard them so many times before.

“The natural order of things,” Alex echoed.

Whatever doubt, whatever hesitation Marcel had felt about the collar was obliterated with those few words. He knew, then, hearing the bitterness and resentment, that Alex would try to run from him again, and he might lose Alex somehow; not be able to protect him and not feel him close. He would be alone again.

He opened the briefcase.

“What’s that?”

“It’s for your safety,” Marcel said carefully. He lifted the collar out—it was unlatched, and once locked around Alex’s precious throat, would be impossible to remove without the code key. “It’s—”

“A shackle.” Alex snorted.

Marcel couldn’t deny that. He just circled the thing around Alex’s neck, and clicked it into place. The sensor beeped once, and a green light flashed. Inside the briefcase, a corresponding monitor beeped as well. He quickly pocketed the gadget.

Alex was fingering the collar. “My parents were the ones who brought me here, when I was ten. They told me to never leave.” He looked at Marcel. “ But I wanted to leave, on my own terms.”

“These _are_ a guide’s terms,” Marcel replied earnestly, hopefully. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“I don’t think you understand, but…” Alex glanced past Marcel, through the cabin’s windows at the all the SUVs waiting outside. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Can I bring my books?”

“Of course,” Marcel replied, confused by the sudden change in topic, but happy that Alex seemed prepared to leave without hassle. “We could ship the whole damn house down if you want.”

“No.” Alex stood, straightening his wool sweater. “I just want the books.”

Marcel rose too, tentatively happy, and slung his arm around Alex’s waist, looking down at him with affection. “So which one should I read next? _Wide Sargasso Sea_?”

The look Alex gave him felt both like the chill from a cold day and a door closing. With sudden clarity, Marcel realized there would be no more books handed to him with a small smile and an order to read. There would be no more discussions by the fire with a cup of tea. And never again would he close a book, sigh, and look up at Alex’s expectant, curious expression.

Marcel, after so many years, had finally caught his guide. So why did it feel like Alex had slipped right through his fingers and disappeared?

 

 


End file.
